


Family Values

by Morgan (morgan32)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Pre-Series, SPN: Season One, Wincest - Freeform, wee!cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-27
Updated: 2009-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It was almost the only thing in their childhood that was normal: the shared giggles under the sheets at night; the whispered revelations. Just like all boys learning about sex for the first time. In a world filled with ghosts, monsters and demons, this much childhood innocence was left to them.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brotherly Love

Dean glanced over to his brother as the music died away. Sam was sleeping, his head at an odd angle against the Impala's window. He was gonna get a hell of a crick in his neck like that but, hell, at least he was sleeping. Dean leaned forward to change the cassette. He popped the tape out, rummaging around for a change of music. He found a new tape and slid it into the stereo, but his hand hovered over the play button uncertainly. This was the first time Sam had really slept since Jessica was killed. Dean shrugged to himself. He could drive without music for a while; let Sammy sleep.

A moment later Sam jerked awake.

Dean looked over to his brother. That look in Sam's eyes was all too familiar. It was a good thing Dean was driving, because his instinct was to reach for Sam, as he always used to. That sure wasn't going to work any more.

So he settled for asking, "You okay?" It came out nicely casual. Good.

Sam's breathing was unsteady. "Yeah, I'm fine."

_Yeah, right. You've had a total of seven hours sleep in the past eight days…and six of those were spent dreaming about her._ "Another nightmare?" Dean asked sympathetically.

Sam didn't answer.

Dean didn't know what to do for Sam. How do you help someone who has lost so much? Dean was four years old when their dad went through this: he couldn't remember how long it took Dad to work through it. Huh. If he ever had.

Dean looked at Sam again. Back at Stanford he thought it was a good thing that he and Sam were on the same page again. Leaving together to find their dad. They were going to be a team again. Now he wondered how much this was going to cost them. The price – Jessica’s life – was already too high.

He actually took his hand off the wheel before he realised he was reaching toward Sam. He dropped his hand, covering the gesture awkwardly, but Sam hadn't noticed. He was still in that nightmare. Dean swallowed. _Man, this was so much easier a few years ago. I coulda put a smile on your face just by…_ He smiledto himself. _Now, there's a thought…_. "You wanna drive for a while?" he offered.

***

They were just kids when it started.

It was, Dean thought, almost the only thing in their childhood that was normal: the shared giggles under the sheets at night; the whispered revelations. Just like all boys learning about sex for the first time. Dean taught his little brother how to jerk off; even did it for him a couple of times. In a world filled with ghosts, monsters and demons, this much childhood innocence was left to them: it never occurred to either boy that their childish explorations were wrong.

The first time they crossed the line, Sammy was only thirteen, which meant Dean was old enough to know better.

It was one of the many nights when their dad was away on a hunt and the boys were left alone at the motel room. That particular motel, Dean remembered, was better than most they stayed in. They had a four-room cabin: two bedrooms, a living room with a kitchenette and an actual television, and a bathroom. Sam spent most of the evening curled up in an armchair watching TV.

Dean resented being left to baby-sit. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He should be out there with their dad, hunting. But then, who would take care of Sammy? That was Dean's job. He checked the locks on every window. He bolted the door. He poured salt on the windowsills and over the carpet in front of the door. White salt stood out vividly against the dark red carpet.

There was a storm that night and Dean watched it from the window. The storm was a bad one: high winds and driving rain. Lightning struck an old tree on the far side of the motel's parking lot. Dean enjoyed watching. First the fire, then the flashing lights of the fire truck. But the storm being so close spooked Sam. Sam didn't admit it, of course. At thirteen years old he was at the I'm-not-a-baby-any-more phase and thought admitting he was scared made him chicken. While Dean enjoyed watching the fire, Sam mumbled something about going to bed and left.

When the fire trucks departed, Dean did one last check of all the doors and windows. Sam was asleep in their room. Dean decided to take a shower before he turned in. He was just about to turn the water on when he heard Sammy moaning in his sleep.

Sam's nightmares were the brothers' secret: the one thing they would never share with their dad. At first, it was just to spare dad the worry. Later, Dean decided it was his problem, his place to take care of Sam on nights like this. He glanced regretfully at the shower, but Sammy came first. He headed into the dark bedroom, leaving the door ajar so the bathroom light shone through. He lay down on the bed beside Sam, on top of the covers. There was a draft from somewhere, raising gooseflesh on Dean’s bare skin. He reached across to his brother.

Sam was mumbling incoherently in his sleep. At Dean's first touch he flinched away as if it hurt. Dean stroked his upper arm gently and after a few moments Sam seemed to settle. Dean leaned close to his brother, speaking close to his ear. "Sammy, it's a dream. Wake up, Sam."

Sam turned toward him, still asleep, and for a moment Dean thought it was over. Sometimes all Sam needed was a touch, to reassure him, and the nightmares would fade into something more pleasant. Then he saw Sam's expression and Sam cried out. Dean had sat through enough of these nightmares to know it was time to wake him. He grabbed Sam's shoulder and shook him. "Sam!"

Sam came awake with a cry that was almost a scream. He looked around wildly, his searching eyes not seeing his worried brother.

"Sam! It's okay."

Sam's eyes were wide, glinting in the faint light. "Dean?" he whispered.

"I'm here, Sammy. It was just a dream." Dean didn't hug him, just in case Sam wanted to play it cool, but Sam was shaking so much Dean could feel the tremors in the bed. "It was a bad one, huh?" he ventured.

Sam looked at him. "Yeah, it was bad. Thanks for waking me up." If Sam noticed Dean was nude, he didn't show it. "Is Dad back?"

Dean shook his head. "No. I think he's gonna be out all night again."

"Oh." Sam sat up in the bed, drawing his legs up and hugging his knees.

"Are you okay, Sammy?"

"No."

"Wanna tell me about it?" Dean offered, hoping Sam wouldn't. He wanted to help, but he was bad at this parenting thing.

"No," Sam answered.

"Okay, then." Dean patted his shoulder awkwardly and started to get up. "I'm gonna go take a shower…"

"Dean, wait!"

Dean sat down again, looking closely at Sam. He was really scared. Even a few months earlier Sammy would have asked for a hug if he needed one, or talked if he needed to. Now he was a teenager and too stinkin' proud to ask for help. It was annoying as hell.

It was just as well Dean knew his kid brother so well. "Move over, Sammy." He climbed into the bed, Dean thought uncomfortably that Sam was getting a bit old for this, or maybe it was he, Dean, who was too old. Certainly having a warm body beside him in bed brought thoughts that he knew he shouldn't be having. But Sam simply lay down next to Dean and closed his eyes.

Dean lay on his side, waiting for Sam to fall asleep. Outside, the rain was heavy on the cabin roof but the storm itself was distant now, only the faint rumble of thunder remaining. Dean looked down at his brother. Tousled hair covered Sam’s eyes. His expression was relaxed, peaceful. He reached out sleepily, cuddling close to Dean as if he was a security blanket.

Dean’s body reacted. Dean shifted uneasily: damned thing had a mind of its own. With Sam holding him Dean couldn't head into the shower to take care of it. He did his best to ignore his hard-on. It was near midnight and Dean was tired, but sleep eluded him for a long time. Eventually, with Sam's even breathing reassuring Dean that he was okay, Dean drifted off to sleep.

Dean woke spooned around Sam's body, and Sam was very much awake.

Nine years later, Dean couldn't remember exactly how it began. He thought he probably started it himself, but he couldn't remember. He did remember holding Sam, humping against his ass, with Sam's smaller hand curled around Dean's own. He remembered sliding their joined hands down to find Sam's hard-on.

He remembered Sam asking "Do you want to?"

_Sam?_ Sam asked? Yes, Dean was sure of that memory.

Dean dashed into the bathroom to find something they could use and he'd never been so excited…or so scared. He climbed into bed with his brother and no part of him thought this was wrong.

Sam wrapped his hand around Dean's dick, with no hesitation. "I've seen your pictures," he said.

Dean smiled at him. "Yeah, I know." But Sam wasn't a magazine model to jerk off over in the dark. He was Dean's brother. Holding Sam in his arms, showing him what to do, wasn't a fantasy, it was real. It was trusting, desiring eyes, awkward limbs and a warm, warm body beneath his. It was the tightness of muscle around Dean's fingers and the sudden, icy fear of hurting Sam. It was Sam's voice telling him not to stop.

It was, though Dean never let Sam suspect this truth, the first time he had shared his body with anyone.

It was the second secret the Winchester boys kept from their father.

And just as well, Dean realised, even as the memory turned his insides to liquid heat. If Dad ever found out what they'd done that night, Dean was certain he would have found himself at the wrong end of Dad's shotgun.

On the other hand, it _did_ defeat Sam's nightmares. Not only for that one night; after that first, careful loving Sammy went a month or more with no bad dreams. To Dean, that was a win.

It was the first time, but not the only time. Dean, perhaps out of fear of their dad, always waited for Sam to initiate their sexual encounters. At first, it happened only when Sam had a bad night, and whether their sexual closeness chased the dreams away or it was simply Sam growing up, those bad nights became fewer and fewer. As they got older, the encounters became more spontaneous and more rushed: a quickie behind a shed, hurried sharing in the shower, hoping the water would cover their voices. But it was never a common thing for them; they had sex maybe once a month at most.

When Sam left for college, Dean couldn't help wondering if he was the real reason Sam needed to get away. Dean knew he might always wonder; he was painfully aware that anyone outside their unique family would see what he'd done as abuse, an older boy taking advantage. Maybe that was why Sam avoided Dean and their dad during those years. When Dean finally did contact him, Sam's mourning for the "normal" life he never had made Dean wonder even more sharply whether Sam hated him for what they had done. But Sam never spoke of it again and so, by their unspoken and unbreakable rules, Dean could not.

So here he was, road-tripping with Sam again and listening to him battle all-new nightmares. And knowing he could help. And hard as a rock contemplating just _how_ he might help.

But he couldn't, not now, not any more. Not until Sam asked. If Sam truly wanted a normal life, he would never, ever ask again.


	2. All Grown Up

_There was something warm dripping on his face. Sam reached up to wipe it away, opening his eyes. He saw Jess above him in the darkness. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming again. Then he smelled blood, thick and coppery. Flames burst around her, blinding Sam for a moment. Heat. The stink of sulphur and ozone. His own voice screaming. "No! Noooo!"_

Sam woke in a cold sweat. His heart was pounding, his breathing almost painful, as if he'd been on a long run. He stared at the dimly lit motel wall. In the next bed, Dean slept on, unknowing.

Sam shivered. He threw back the covers and got up, walking to the bathroom as quietly as he could. He closed the door behind him and turned the light on. Then he went to the sink to splash some water on his face.

The cold water brought him fully awake, washing away the last remnants of the dream. Water swirled around the basin and Sam watched it drain away. He blinked and saw a flash of flames before his eyes, Jess pinned to the ceiling. He squeezed his eyes shut and clung to the basin. His heart raced, battering his ribs.

_Calm the fuck down, Sam. It's a dream._ He shut off the water with his eyes still closed, then, turning his back on the basin, he returned to his bed. He left the bathroom light on, with the door open a crack so light spilled into the bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Sam found himself looking at Dean, wishing he were awake, but kind of glad he wasn't. It was the first time Sam could remember Dean sleeping through one of his nightmares. When they were kids, Dean always, always woke up.

Things were different now.

_Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you’ve done? _

_You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you’re going to have to face up to who you really are._

Dean said that before Jess died. At the time, Sam thought they were talking about the hunting thing: the life his dad and Dean seemed to want; the life Sam had rejected for himself. Now, watching Dean sleep, he wondered if that was _all_ they were talking about. He remembered the hurt, and maybe (did he imagine it?) guilt in Dean's eyes when they fought.

Sam wondered, sometimes, whether incest was more common behind closed doors than anyone knew. Was it possible the so-strong societal taboo was really a prohibition against admitting to it? So many people believed all human instinct was against it, as if there was some built-in biological imperative that would stop anyone wanting sex with a sibling. Whole books about it graced university libraries: Sam had read some of them. Such utter rubbish. He read other books, too: history and anthropology; things that were easier to relate to his own experience.

Sam felt neither guilt nor regret about his childhood incest with Dean. He remembered treasuring their secret like a talisman that could keep the bad things away.

Sam remembered the night it began.

***

The thunderstorm had been going on for hours and it made the TV reception terrible. Sam was curled up in a chair in his pyjamas, flicking through the channels. There wasn't a single interesting channel with a good picture.

Dean was kneeling on one of the kitchen chairs staring out of the window. Looking past him, Sam could see the tree in the parking lot burning. Against the orange-yellow glow the branches of the tree looked like skeletal hands reaching upward in fear. Sam shuddered at the image in his head.

"Dean, can you shut the drapes?" he called.

Dean behaved as if he didn't hear and maybe he really didn't. Or maybe he was being a dick because he wanted to gawk at the fire engine.

Sam yawned and realised it was quite late. He gave up on the TV, told Dean he was going to bed (Dean muttered "’Night, Sammy," without turning around) and padded into the bedroom.

Even in the bedroom, the fire dominated. The window didn't even face the parking lot, but the orange glow reflected off the clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance and rain battered the roof. There were shadows on the walls, leaping shadows that might conceal horrors. He pulled the drapes closed, but that made the shadows even darker. He opened them again.

Sammy curled up in bed, hugging his pillow close.

With sleep, came the dreams. Formless images, disjointed. His mind was a carnival mirror-maze. Then there was Dean's voice, Dean's touch, like a lifejacket to a drowning boy, and the dream changed. Sammy was laughing, running through a field of tall corn. Dean was with him, racing ahead. Dean turned and called something back to Sam. A shadow swept across the corn and Dean was gone. Just gone. Sam ran, calling Dean's name, searching. He stood in the spot where he last saw Dean, panic filling him. There was no shadow, no Dean.

He came awake abruptly. The panic of the dream was still there and he looked around wildly. Where was Dean?

Dean was there, on the bed with him. "Sam! It's okay."

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

"I'm here, Sammy. It was just a dream. It was a bad one, huh?"

Sam couldn't stop trembling. Something took Dean, right in front of him. It wasn't real, but he couldn't shake off the feeling. "Yeah, it was bad," he answered. "Thanks for waking me up. Is Dad back?"

Dean shook his head. "No. I think he's gonna be out all night again."

"Oh." Sam sat up in the bed, drawing his legs up and hugging his knees. He hated these nightmares. They made him feel weak and scared. And different. Dean didn't dream at night. Their dad never woke up screaming. Only Sam.

"Are you okay, Sammy?"

"No."

"Wanna tell me about it?"

"No," Sam answered. It was nice of Dean to offer, but Sam thought the dream would sound stupid if he tried to tell it. _We were running through the corn and this big shadow made you vanish._ Yeah, that sounded so scary. Dean might just laugh at him.

"Okay, then." Dean smiled, a quick flash of white teeth in the dark room. He patted Sam's shoulder. "I'm gonna go…" He started to get up.

Immediately, Sam was back in the dream. It was crazy, but he knew somehow that if he let Dean out of his sight something really bad was going to happen.

"Dean, wait!" he called.

Dean sat down on Sam's bed.

_Don't go, Dean. Please don't go._

Dean sighed; the same sigh he always used when Sam wanted something. "Move over, Sammy." He climbed into the bed beside Sam.

Sam was torn between letting Dean see how scared he was, and his need to know Dean was safe. He couldn't tell Dean; he would laugh. Sam had no choice, not really. He cuddled close to his brother so he would know if Dean tried to leave. He felt Dean tense. At first, Sam thought it was because Dean was planning to sneak away as soon as Sam was asleep again. A moment later, he realised he was wrong.

A few months earlier Sam found Dean's collection of magazines, stashed away in an old gym bag. Most of it was girls, but there was one magazine that was different. It looked like it had been read more often than the others, and the pictures were all of men. When Sammy first saw it, he thought the pictures were disgusting. Why would anyone want to do those things? He'd looked at the whole thing, though, reluctantly fascinated. When he was done, he hid everything away just as Dean left it.

One image from the magazine stayed with him. Maybe it was because one of the men in the picture looked so much like Dean. Older, but the hair was the same, and there was something in his face that just made Sammy think of his brother. It was a loving, comforting image.

Sam wondered if Dean wanted to do the things in the picture, and if he did, whether he'd want to do them with him, Sam. Sam would never have asked him about it. Never. He could tell from how carefully Dean hid the magazine that he wasn't supposed to know. But it was too late; the picture was burned into his mind. With those thoughts in his head to chase away his bad dreams, and Dean warm and safe beside him, Sam was finally able to sleep.

He woke when Dean moved, but Dean was just turning over in his sleep. Unconscious, Dean curled around Sam's body in an imitation of the picture in Sam's head. Sam lay there, a different sort of scared. And excited. Dean wasn't wearing anything and his chest was warm against Sam's back, his thighs pressing against Sam's butt.

Sam realised that _he_ wanted to do those things with Dean.

Nine years later, remembering that night, Sam wondered how he'd found the guts to act on his thoughts. He knew it was wrong…or at least, he'd known enough to realise that their dad would kick both their asses if he ever found out. But it didn't seem weird at the time.

"Dean," he whispered into the dark, and again, "Dean!"

He felt Dean jerk awake and draw back as he realised the position they were lying in. Sam moved with him, not letting Dean pull away, but the change in position pushed Dean's dick against his ass and Sam felt it, big and hard. It should have been no big deal. Sam knew it happened sometimes in sleep. It happened to him, too. But combined with Sam's thoughts it was a very big deal. Sam wanted to know.

Dean was moving his hips, just a little, rubbing his dick against Sam’s ass. Sam felt it through the cotton of his pyjamas like a burning heat. He was scared, but he wanted Dean to keep going. Sam heard Dean sigh with sleepy pleasure, an odd, rumbling sound. He reached behind him and found Dean’s hand. Not quite believing he was really doing this, Sam pulled Dean’s arm around him, placing Dean’s hand over his hard dick.

"Dean," Sam said again. "Do you want to?"

"Huh, Sammy?"

"You want to?"

There was a long silence. Dean's body was tense against him. Finally, Dean said, in a voice that sounded really strange, "Do you?"

Sam nodded.

"Sammy, that's… Okay."

Sam didn't remember Dean leaving the bed, but he must have, because Sam was sure he hadn't brought lubricant to bed, and at some point Sam got undressed. He remembered thinking Dean was too slow, because he was so careful.

Dean's hand, slick with something, slid between Sam's butt cheeks. Sam, scared and excited and eager, wanted him to get on with it.

Dean whispered in his ear, "Ssh, Sammy. It'll hurt you if I go too fast."

Sam started to protest that Dean wouldn't hurt him but Dean pushed a finger inside him and abruptly Sam knew what he meant. It was a weird feeling, but he didn't think it hurt.

When Dean added a third finger Sam wasn't sure he enjoyed the feeling. But by then Dean's breath was hot on his neck and he knew Dean didn't want to stop. Then Dean withdrew his fingers and it was happening at last.

Sam didn't want to stop any more. He felt no pain, only pressure, more than he expected. He was on his side, with Dean's body spooned around him. One of Dean's arms was under Sam's neck, stretched out across the bed. Sam's hand was squeezed in his brother's fist. Dean's other hand lay on Sam's hip, holding him. But then Dean moved, guiding Sam's hand to his own dick and they did it together.

Sam slept soundly until morning, not even waking when, shortly after dawn, Dean finally left the bed to take his shower.

So many years ago. In the years that followed, Sam often wondered what made Dean do it. Dean was old enough to know what a taboo it was. Whatever it was, Sam was grateful. Dean chased his nightmares away.

It was a shame he couldn't help Sam again now they were all grown up.


	3. Car Trouble

Dean rolled out from underneath the car, swearing under his breath. He propped himself up on one arm, looking up at Sam. "She's leaking oil and the muffler has a hole in it the size of an egg."

Sam grimaced. "Well, you were the one who said it."

"Said what, dude?" Dean started to stand up.

"That breaking all those mirrors was good for a few centuries of bad luck."

"Hmph," Dean grunted. He thwacked the back of Sam's head with an oily hand.

"Hey!"

Dean grinned as he headed around to the trunk. They were in a motel parking lot where Sam insisted they stop after the noise from the Impala's exhaust started drowning out even Dean's music. He searched under all the weapons for his toolbox. He could patch it up well enough to get them to the next big town, but he had a feeling he was going to be paying for a whole new exhaust.

When Dean finally headed into their room, he found Sam reading a local newspaper. "Anything interesting, Sammy?"

"Not for us," he answered without looking up. Then he flashed a smile at Dean. "Dude, is it raining oil?"

"Ooh, you're so funny! I'm gonna hit the shower."

"Looks like a good idea."

Dean closed the bathroom door on Sammy's grin and stripped. He left his dirty clothes in a haphazard pile. They really needed to find a laundromat soon.

Once under the shower, Dean's irritation began to ebb away. Hot water flowed over his head and shoulders, soothing aching muscles. It wasn't that much of a tragedy. There was one credit card left that hadn't yet been cancelled, so he could afford to replace the exhaust. It was the delay that irritated him. A garage would have to order the part, and that might take a few days.

Dean felt better once he washed most of the oil away. He was relaxed enough to masturbate. That always made him feel better. Stroking himself with a soapy hand, he leaned his head back, letting the water stream over his throat, his chest. Oh, yeah…that was good…

The bathroom door opened. Someone knocked. Dean sighed. Fuck it. "Sam?" he called, reaching for the shower control.

"I thought you'd want a change of clothes," Sam said.

"Thanks," Dean said irritably and stepped out of the shower, deliberately not grabbing the towel first. If Sam was gonna barge in when he _knew_ Dean was naked…

Sam smirked, looking down. "Wow, man, I know you love that car, but…"

"You're killing me." Dean tried to make it sarcastic but it came out kinda weak. He rummaged around in his head for a line that would put him back on top of this conversation. He found, "Get out, Sam. Unless you want to help me take care of it."

He saw Sam's eyes go wide, his jaw drop. He was flustered, which was what Dean wanted, but oh, shit, he really hadn't meant to do that. It was too late to take the words back. Sam stared at him for a long moment and then turned and left the bathroom without another word.

Dean cursed his runaway mouth. He never meant to say that, didn't want to raise the old issue again. How was he supposed to fix this one?

"I hope you're happy now," he muttered, looking sourly at his erection. Yeah, it seemed to be happy. On the theory that it was dumb to waste it, Dean leaned back against the tiled wall and went back to masturbating. But his heart wasn't in it any more. He imagined Sam's hand stroking him and sighed happily then realised what he was doing and quit. It was a long time since he and Sam had been together that way. It had been four years ago, in fact, just before Sam took off for college.

***

"Get in the fucking car, Sammy. Get in the car right now!"

Sam glared at him, but finally obeyed, probably because Dean was standing so close to him that into the car was the only way he could go.

A weight in Dean's chest eased. He looked at their dad, his eyes speaking volumes, then he got into the drivers seat and drove them both the hell out of there. He was scared shitless that Sam and their dad were going to come to blows. Dean rarely saw their dad so angry; in this mood he might actually kill Sammy. He wouldn't mean to, but shit, it was possible. Dean couldn't see any option except to get Sam away. Just for a few hours, so Dad could calm down.

Dean drove in silence. He was pissed with Sam himself. Why would Sam want to leave them now? Why _now_? They were supposed to be a team. Sam was finally old enough and he was bailing on them. It just wasn't right.

By the time they left the lights of the town behind them, Dean thought he was calm enough to try to explain some of this to Sam. He kept driving into the darkness, but glanced over at Sam and started talking.

Sam interrupted. "I've already had this fight with dad, okay, Dean. I don't want to have the same fight with you, too."

"But - "

"Stop the car."

"What?"

"Stop the car or I'll get out while it's moving!"

Dean braked. Tyres screeched. The car stopped.

Sam leapt out of the car and slammed the door shut. He started to walk back the way they'd come.

For about ten seconds, Dean stayed in the car, because he knew Sam was being a fucking drama queen and wanted Dean to follow him. But he couldn't let his brother take off alone in the dark. Who knew what could be out there?

He ran after Sam, calling, "Sam! Sammy!" When he caught up he grabbed Sam's shoulder, forcing his brother to face him. And then stopped, just staring at him, unable to say a word. He just didn't understand why Sam was leaving.

"What?" Sam demanded angrily.

The rage in his voice sparked Dean's anger, too. "I don't want you to go, you stupid bastard! Can't you see that!"

Sam narrowed his eyes. He took a step toward Dean and Dean automatically raised an arm to block the punch he thought was coming. But Sam grabbed his arm instead, pulled him closer and kissed him. The kiss was hard and bruising. Sam's teeth scraped Dean's lip, drawing blood.

Dean ran his hands up Sam's arms, getting a good grip on his shoulders, then pushed him away. He didn't want to do this. Not _like_ this. He didn't want to fuck Sam and have it be goodbye.

Sam dropped to his knees on the tarmac. He reached for Dean's belt.

"Sammy, don't," Dean protested, but even to his own ears it sounded more like _what are you waiting for?_ "Don't," he said again, but Sam didn't stop and Dean was getting hard anyway, damn it. By the time Sam pulled his dick out of his pants, fighting it seemed pointless.

Sam's mouth was hot and hungry, surrounding Dean's dick, sucking him hard, and all the blood in Dean's brain was flowing south, robbing him of thought and caution. He looked up at the emerging stars. Sam's hands gripped his ass through his jeans, keeping him close.

"Oh, god, Sammy!" Dean groaned. He felt Sammy's throat relax, drawing him in deeper. Dean risked a look down and found Sam gazing up at him, his lips almost at the root of Dean's cock. "Oh, fuck…Sam…" There was a scrape of teeth - not enough to hurt, but one more layer of oh-my-fucking-god, just an edge of danger. Dean couldn't stop if he wanted to. He gripped Sam's hair, holding him in place, mouth-fucking him hard until he came deep in his brother's throat and felt Sam swallowing around him.

As Sam released him, Dean's legs gave way and he collapsed to his knees in the road.

***

Dean groaned, remembering Sam kneeling on the road, looking up at Dean as he blew him. His fingers convulsed on the smooth tiled wall, seeking purchase while his other hand worked at his cock, fast, desperate. It was with the memory in his head, and Sam's name on his lips, that Dean climaxed at last.

He washed his hands. He took a piss. He washed his hands again.

He picked up a towel and rubbed himself dry. He dressed in the clothing Sam left for him. He looked at himself in the mirror.

He walked out to face his brother.


	4. I Never...

Sam heard Dean call out his name. It was years since he'd heard his name on Dean's lips, in that particular tone of voice. Yet it was so familiar. He found he could visualise exactly what Dean was doing. Sam knew how close he was to climaxing, and the thought that Dean was thinking of _him_ made his body tighten. Sam had a sudden vision of himself striding into the bathroom, opening his pants and bending his brother over the bathroom sink. He knew Dean would let him, and…

…Oh, god, he needed to get out of there!

Sam jumped off the bed, grabbed his jacket and fled from the room.

There was a diner attached to the motel. Sam paid for a coffee and chose a table near the window so he would see if Dean came looking for him. The coffee was terrible.

Looking through the dusty glass, sipping bitter coffee, Sam calmed down enough to ask himself why he was so freaked out. It wasn't the first time he'd heard Dean…doing that. They were kids… Well, Sam was a kid when it started. Dean was seventeen, that's not a child, not really.

Sam found himself gazing at the Impala out in the parking lot. Dean fucked him in the back seat once. Sam never ran away from him before.

There was a photograph of Jess in Sam's wallet. She, Sam thought, fingering the photograph gently, was the difference. Dean was Sam's first, and for a long time his only, sexual experience, but Jess was…everything, while they were together. This photograph was from one of their first dates. In the picture Jess was laughing, sprawled across the laps of three other people, looking like she'd just fallen there. She _had_ fallen, Sam remembered. It was a birthday party, and they'd all been fairly drunk. He smiled sadly, remembering. They'd been drunk _before_ the drinking games started.

***

"I never…" Alison declared, raising the wine bottle unsteadily, "…wore fishnet stockings." She drank, straight from the bottle.

Finally, one where Sam could take the conventional route. He kept his beer bottle in front of him, not drinking. They were playing _I Never…_ Sam was just drunk enough to be comfortable playing…which, he realised through the alcoholic haze, probably meant he was hammered. The game was simple: one person declared they'd never done something. If it wasn't true (it usually wasn't) they had to take a drink. Then anyone else who had also done whatever it was had to take a drink, too. Simple enough. Except that playing the game honestly kind of exposed just how insane Sam's life had been. The first one had been _I never spent a night in a haunted house_, and they got steadily worse from there.

Sam didn't drink on the fishnet stockings round, but two of the men in their circle did. Sam caught Phil's eye across the circle. He shrugged. "Rocky Horror," he explained.

"Oh, of course," Sam grinned back, pretending he didn't believe it.

Alison passed the bottle to Sam. He thought for a moment then announced, "I never stole a car." Again, he didn't drink. Dean stole cars. Okay, one car. That Sam knew of. Two of the gang drank, though. Sam passed the bottle to Jessica.

Jessica struck a pose, raising the wine bottle like Lady Liberty's torch. Sam laughed and several others joined him. When the laughter died down, Jessica said, "I never…" she smiled mischievously, "…had sex."

Everyone drank. Everyone looked to see if anyone wasn't drinking. Everyone laughed.

Jess passed the bottle to Phil, who said instantly, "I never had sex…with a man."

All the girls drank. So did Nate, who everyone knew was gay. After a brief hesitation, so did Sam.

Alison noticed and screamed, "Ooh, Sam, you've gotta tell!"

Sam shrugged, and lied. "Aw, I was just a kid. And drunk. And real stupid." He looked up at her, conscious of Jess beside him. "I'm not drunk enough to tell you any more."

Phil announced there was no wine left in the bottle. Someone produced a new bottle. "I never…"

***

Sam tucked the photograph back in his wallet. Most girls would have ditched him after that drunken admission. He thought that maybe he began to fall in love with her because she was okay with it.

He looked up and saw Dean crossing the parking lot. The urge to take up Dean's dare earlier had been strong; Sam was fairly sure Dean noticed. Sam didn't feel weird about that. He never had. _Nobody's business but ours._ But _shouldn't_ he feel weird about it? Shouldn't the thought of sleeping with anyone feel odd, so soon after Jess?

Screwing Sam occasionally didn't stop Dean from chasing everything in a skirt. Sam never got stupid or jealous when Dean hooked up. No reason to.

Sam knew that if he was thinking about having sex with a woman, he'd feel like he was betraying Jess. It was too soon for him to be moving on. Dean wasn't "moving on", though. Dean was different.

Sam caught his brother's eye through the window and beckoned him over.

_I never…_

"I never thought loving my brother would get so complicated," Sam said quietly. He drank his coffee.

**~ END ~**


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